


Nothing's Ever That Simple

by JulyStorms



Series: Though the Stars Walk Backward [2]
Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 21:11:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5306936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulyStorms/pseuds/JulyStorms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobuchika told his father that he loved her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing's Ever That Simple

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cellorocket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellorocket/gifts).



> Requested by Cello on Tumblr: 10. The way you said “I love you”: said not to me.
> 
> "What's so painful about loving and being loved? There are plenty of loves that cannot even be confessed."   
> -André Grandier, from the anime _Rose of Versailles_

Tsunemori was waiting with the car when Nobuchika told his father that he loved her. She never came with him—had said, once, that she didn’t want to intrude, not on his personal time. When pressed, she had admitted that she was able to come whenever she wanted. He was not allowed that luxury. The least she could do was give him his privacy.

He wouldn’t have minded having her company, but it was only because she was so far away that he felt comfortable telling his father the truth.

It was a pleasant conversation, though one-sided.

It ought to have been more awkward—difficult, even. A handful of years ago, he wouldn’t have wanted to tell his father anything about his feelings, let alone his love life. But things had changed—and so had he. There were a lot of quiet regrets bubbling just below the surface of his mind. If only he hadn’t been so blind. If only he hadn’t been such a fool. He could be sitting down to a drink with his father to tell him that he’d fallen in love with Tsunemori Akane; he could be listening to his father’s amused crowing about it, could be blushing uncomfortably and making excuses as to why he was telling his father about it instead of telling her.

Instead, he was kneeling in front of a grave.

His confession was solemn and spoken softly as if he was afraid she might somehow hear it from where she was leaning against the side of her car.

“I love her, Dad.”

He didn’t think he needed to specify who. His father would know. Detective’s instinct.

The air remained silent, and he took a deep breath, flexed the fingers of his mechanical hand. “I almost lost her.” As his fingers relaxed again, he whispered, “I’ve never been any good at protecting anyone, not even myself...”

Just remembering the situation at Shamballa Float was enough to make his heart want to fold in on itself in a panic. It had been so close— _too_ close. A few more seconds, and—

“But I was fast enough. For her.”

He was getting better at his job, at playing the role of an enforcer. Even after a handful of years it felt oddly new. Many times he wished he was an inspector again, but for what? For the personal freedom it afforded him? Or was it only because there were days—and too many empty nights—that he wanted nothing more than to once again be Tsunemori’s equal?

It was worse than a pipe dream. His crime coefficient would never go below 100 again; his was even higher than his father’s had been.

But he daydreamed about it sometimes, about being able to return to that kind of life again. He’d wasted it while he’d had it. There were regrets there, too.

Not that he had loved Tsunemori, then. He hadn’t. He’d been annoyed by her, and then troubled, and finally intrigued. Then his life had changed; had been disassembled and rearranged until it was almost unrecognizable as his own.  

She deserved to know that she was loved, but he couldn’t ever tell her. It would be cruel to corner her with his feelings; it would be worse for her to think, even fleetingly, that every kind thing he’d done was in the hopes of having his feelings returned.

And Nobuchika _did_ want that. He’d be a liar and a fool to pretend he didn’t.

But the possibility was unlikely. Tsunemori was as married to her job as he had been as an inspector. She never went out with men. He’d found her sleeping at her desk more than once, keyboard imprints on her cheek. It was almost a relief to know that she didn’t want to make time for a relationship like that—not because it meant that nobody else could have her, but because it kept him from hoping. If she wasn’t interested in anyone, she certainly couldn’t be interested in him.

It was a stupid thought—a selfish one.

Love had always seemed so easy—so _simple_. Then he’d fallen for someone out of his reach; now he knew that love could be complex and difficult. There was nothing easy about loving someone else.

“She deserves more than I can give,” he admitted on the wings of a sigh.

He could almost hear his father’s raspy laugh, feel his fingers settling against his good shoulder. He wondered what Detective Masaoka would say to a comment like that.

Probably the same thing Tsunemori would say, he imagined, and couldn’t help but smile a little: something about letting people make up their own mind about what they deserve.

“The only thing that held me back from telling you that I loved you was myself, Dad. It’s different with Tsunemori. She carries too many burdens already. She doesn’t need another.”

He got to his feet, pulled his coat back around him even though it wasn’t cold.

“It’s much more complicated,” he said as if he needed to defend his choice to stay quiet.

But when he made his way back to the car and was greeted by a gently-smiling Tsunemori, everything suddenly seemed terribly simple.

Once the car was unlocked, he settled into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt, waiting for her to do the same. As her own seatbelt clicked into place, he reached over to take her hand. It was an innocuous action, though not the first time he’d done it; this time his grip was loose and careful, fingers of his good hand barely brushing against hers.

God, he liked the way her hand felt, small and warm and grounding.

“Tsunemori,” he said, trying not to choke, “thank you for bringing me here.”

Her surprise, which was only minute in the first place, melted into an expression he could only describe as understanding. “You’re welcome, Ginoza-san. Did you have a nice talk with Masaoka-san?”

The words he wanted to say were lodged in his throat. That he couldn’t say them was, perhaps, for the best.

The smile Tsunemori offered him was encouraging.

He couldn’t help but smile back, and if it looked a little too affectionate, a little too fond, she was gracious enough to pretend she didn’t notice.

“Yes,” he managed to say.

She didn’t answer. She only squeezed his hand tightly, and for some reason…didn’t bother to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> While the idea behind this is somewhat arguable, I really do think that Ginoza's relationship to Akane is beyond complex; I also think that he would definitely worry about upsetting the balance they've found. To introduce non-platonic feelings into the mix after the years they've known each other could come as either a great relief or as a major upset. Would Ginoza risk Akane's comfort and well-being on a gamble like that? I think not.
> 
> But then again, if he waits too long, he might not have the chance to tell her at all.


End file.
